


hope is a dangerous thing

by olivebranchesandredwine



Series: hope is a dangerous thing [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Canon Queer Relationship, Coda, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e11 Meet the Parents, Fix-It of Sorts, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Introspection, M/M, Panic Attacks, Season/Series 05, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump, problematic blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-10-21 04:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20687729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivebranchesandredwine/pseuds/olivebranchesandredwine
Summary: “I love Patrick,” he spoke under his breath like a mantra, “and Patrick loves me.” He repeated it to himself, this fundamental truth that couldn’t be shattered, clung to it like a life preserver in a hurricane as he struggled to remember everything he held dear in his rational brain, struggled to maintain that connection to what he knew. The icy tendrils continued to spread from the pit of his stomach, tightening their hold on everything they reached. Deep down, he knew that everything was okay, that everything was going to be okay. The pit in his stomach was lying to him; David knew that. Everything was going to be okay. Wasn’t it?An exploration of David's anxiety in season 5 through a Meet the Parents coda.





	1. don't ask if I'm happy

**Author's Note:**

> Titles from Lana del Ray, "hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have"
> 
> This fic is how I'm processing a lot of my own qualms with stuff in season 5, and it's gonna hurt, y'all. Settle in for some whump. Note that I _am_ sticking to canon here, so we're still working toward those four golden rings on the bluff at Rattlesnake Point. I just feel like there's so much running beneath the surface that needs to be acknowledged more fully. 
> 
> So, before you proceed, here are some premises from which I'm working:
> 
> 1\. David/Patrick are my OTP. They love each other.  
2\. Loving each other does not mean that they can't be hurt by each other.  
3\. David has grown and matured a LOT over the course of the show  
4\. Anxiety isn't something to grow out of, and David still has anxiety.  
5\. Patrick Brewer is a heart-eyed button face, but the show let him get away with some seriously Not Ok Shit this season.  
6\. David is allowed to feel his feelings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party is over, and David made everything okay, for everyone but himself.

As the final strains of “Brighter than Sunshine” wafted through the cafe, David leaned in to Patrick’s embrace, letting go of the breath he’d been holding since the whole situation had blown up this morning. They were okay. Patrick’s parents knew about him, about _them, _and everything was okay. So what if the surprise party was ruined? So what if his family had forced Patrick to come out at his surprise party? Patrick was still happy about how the evening turned out; somehow David had smoothed everything over. Okay, so Patrick reminded him that he hadn’t paid for the gift basket products (_stupid upsold robber all over again,_ David’s brain so helpfully supplied), but still. Everything was okay. Right? Patrick was holding him close and kissing his neck, and they were swaying to the music while Twyla mopped around them. And everything was okay. It was going to be okay.

“Come home with me tonight?” Patrick murmured against the sensitive spot beneath his ear, then nipped at his lobe. David pulled away, brought his forehead down rest against Patrick’s, and smiled softly, thoughtfully. _God_, how he loved this beautiful man. He wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped in his arms. Tonight. _Forever_. This—to be safe and comfortable and warm in the arms of the man he loved more than anything—this is all David could ever want, for the rest of his life.

So why did he feel like his stomach was about to drop to his feet?

“Mmm,” David sighed, then pressed a delicate kiss to Patrick’s forehead. He brought his temple to rest against the curls barely starting to form at the top of his boyfriend’s head, inhaled the faintly woodsy scent that was part his cologne, part his Rose Apothecary shampoo, _all_ Patrick. It smelled like home. David sighed again, pulled Patrick closer into his chest, and swayed to the rhythm of music that Twyla had finally turned off. _Home_.

“I…um, it’s been such an emotional day. Maybe I should give you some room to breathe, decompress?” The tight feeling in his stomach was inching its way up toward his chest, something tugging, hard and rough as it overtook his insides. Icy tendrils snaked their way out of that dark, tight _something _that was moving from his stomach and spread along his limbs. David shivered suddenly, then wrapped himself even tighter around his boyfriend’s body.

Everything was okay now; the Brewers knew Patrick’s truth; Patrick wasn’t mad at him for Johnny’s massive blunder. Patrick loved him, and he loved Patrick, and everything was going to be okay. Wasn’t it?

Patrick was nuzzling his nose into the short hair behind David’s ear, ghosting his lips along its shell, “I want you to. Please? It _is_ my birthday…” David melted a little, knew there was no way he could say no. “If you’re sure,” he answered, his voice a little higher than usual, a little rougher. And his hands might have been trembling, but it had been a _very_ messy day, and he was just glad that everything had been untangled, that the mess he’d made had been sorted. Thankful that Patrick wasn’t upset. That everything was okay. 

David felt a familiar prickle starting behind his eyes, and blinked rapidly to chase away the tears. He’d just been going nonstop for so long, was so tired, and just coming down from all the emotion of the day. Of course he was going to be a little overwhelmed. That’s all.

“I just need to finish up here, and get my things, alright?” David glanced over Patrick’s shoulder to the counter, where Twyla was standing, still smiling at them, only now a bit angrily. Patrick rocked up on the balls of his feet and kissed David, “See you at home, babe.” He flashed a bright smile, gave David a playful smack on the ass, and walked out. Home_. _David loved that word on Patrick’s lips, because for him, Patrick was _home_. Even if he…David’s throat felt tight, the air thick as he fought to gasp enough air into his lungs. Even if…David couldn’t bear to let himself complete the thought. 

David stood quietly while his boyfriend left, staring at the windows of Cafe Tropical like a movie screen as he watched Patrick walk out of sight. _Exit stage right, _or something like that, his mom would probably say. David blinked, several times. He _must _have watched Patrick leave the cafe. He was just _here,_ and David was watching, wasn’t he? He saw him leave. Were his eyes closed? David shook his head, looked around the room blankly. He was still in the cafe, knew he was still in the cafe, Twyla somehow scowling as she smiled at him, but everything was suddenly completely, frighteningly unfamiliar.

“I love Patrick,” he spoke under his breath like a mantra, “and Patrick loves me.” He repeated it to himself, this fundamental truth that couldn’t be shattered, clung to it like a life preserver in a hurricane as he struggled to remember everything he held dear in his rational brain, struggled to maintain that connection to what he _knew_. The icy tendrils continued to spread from the pit of his stomach, tightening their hold on everything they reached. Deep down, he knew that everything was okay, that everything was going to be okay. The pit in his stomach was lying to him; David _knew _that. Everything was going to be okay. _Wasn’t it?_

As soon as he’d realized that Patrick had disappeared from view outside the window, David crumpled into a heap on the cafe’s dirty floor, no longer able to choke back the broken sobs. 

* * *

Hollowed out. Empty. David knew he was on the godawful cafe floor, every second contaminating his Rick Owens pants all the more with the grime of years of careless neglect by Twyla and the Twylas who came before her. He needed to stand up, to gather himself, to go to Patrick’s apartment, where the man he loved was waiting for him. 

He couldn’t move. When he tried, the emptiness overwhelmed him; he felt himself shatter into a trembling, broken mess. David smashed his hands against the sides of his head, a barricade against the cacophony tearing at his eardrums—the roar of blood rushing to the rhythm of his rapid heartbeat that was pounding inside his head was overwhelmed by a wordless keening that David couldn’t quite recognize as the sound of his own voice. 

From a distance, somewhere beyond the dark tunnel encasing him, suffocating him, he heard a kind voice calling his name, reminding him to breathe, counting a steady rhythm.

_Breathe in, David. 1. 2. 3. 4. Breathe out. 1. 2. 3. 4._

David shook his head as though he could shake the wailing out of his skull, could stop the roar, _something. _He strained to listen for that voice, to do what it was saying._ Breathe, David. _He took in a shaky breath, let it go. Did it again, and again, according to instructions, doing what the soothing voice was telling him to do. He felt something warm and strong pressing against his chest, a gentle pressure gliding back and forth along his upper back, the movement synced to the voice.

_It’s okay, David. Focus on your breathing. You’re doing great. Steady breaths…breathe all the way into your belly. That’s good. Deep breaths. Keep going._

The room began to come back into focus as David’s breathing evened out; the roaring in his head started to settle. David realized he was still on the cafe floor, curled into Twyla, who was holding him steady against her small frame, rubbing his back and reminding him to breathe.

“Just focus on your breath, David. All you need to do right now is focus on your breath. Everything else will follow from there.” An expression of calm, authoritative _presence _had taken the place of her usual flighty smile, and her eyes clouded with concern.

“David, are you with me?” she asked gently, bringing a delicate hand to rest on his cheek, her touch comforting and warm. “Do you need me to call Pa—…Stevie? Or Alexis?” _Bless her_, David thought. Twyla saw more than her demeanor let on, and David was grateful for it. 

With each breath he felt more _himself, _the ferocious all-consuming intensity of the panic attack replaced with a duller ache, one simultaneously foreign yet all too familiar. An ache softened into near oblivion through all these months of Patrick’s gentle affection, his acceptance of David’s quirks, his unshakeable love, his utter and complete tru-...an ache now throbbing like a scar ripped open, a reminder that David has never been good enough. That he’s always been something to hide.

Even for Patrick, the love of his life.

David buried his face into the crook of Twyla’s neck as his body was once again overcome with uncontrollable shuddering sobs. He cried in Twyla’s arms, wracked with grief for the connection he’d only _thought_ they had, wracked with guilt for letting it overtake him while Patrick was waiting for him at home. _At Patrick’s home,_ his anxiety reminded him, _because he didn’t want to live with you. _

David cried, and Twyla held him. He cried in her arms until the tears ran dry.

* * *

After sitting with him on that cold floor, easing him down from his panic, Twyla insisted David have some tea and a pastry before leaving. He sat at the counter, nibbling tiny bites of stale blueberry muffin and sipping chamomile tea while she finished all the closing chores he’d delayed, first with Patrick and then with his own outburst. Grateful for the kindness, David swiped the broom from her hands after he finished his snack, and they worked together in companionable silence to finish the last few tasks. 

When they walked out of the cafe, David caught Twyla off-guard by opening his arms for a hug. Over the years, he’d made it abundantly clear that, unlike Alexis, he was _not_ a hugger. But tonight, David hugged her tightly, rested his chin on the top of her head, and whispered, “Thank you” with a sincerity that surprised even him, one Twyla herself wouldn’t have imagined possible before it happened. 

It was…late when David finally arrived at Patrick’s. If he were being honest with himself, David would’ve admitted that a big part of him hoped Patrick would have already fallen asleep. He knew it wouldn’t happen; it wouldn’t be that easy. Because people like David didn’t get easy—didn’t _deserve_ easy, that dark part of his brain unhelpfully supplied.

For who knows how long, David stood on the upcycled bike tire doormat at Patrick’s door, key in hand, unable to bring himself to unlock the door. _Patrick’s_ door. He stood there, reminding himself to breathe, repeating the words he’d desperately clung to for the last few hours.

_I love Patrick._

_Breathe in. 1. 2. 3. 4._

_And Patrick loves me._

_Breathe out. 1. 2. 3. 4._

He schooled his face into what he hoped was a casual smirk, sent up a silent prayer to the skincare gods that the eucalyptus serum hid the tell-tale puffiness, and finally pushed the key into the lock._ It would be so much easier if I could just go home, pop a pill, and cry. _David slowly opened the door.


	2. you know that I'm not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David arrives at Patrick's apartment after the panic attack at Cafe Tropical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: this chapter includes some unhealthy emotions happening during sex that stem from the couple's lack of communication. What happens _is_ consensual, but _not_ in a healthy way. If you'd like to skip that part, click on the link that says "Skip the sex." 
> 
> Feel free to email me or message me on tumblr if you want additional clarification or summary.

“Where have you been?” Patrick rushed to the door and pulled him in for a hug, “I was getting worried, babe.” David slid his arms around Patrick’s’ neck, brushed a delicate kiss to his forehead. He inhaled deeply, finding comfort in the familiarity of Patrick’s smell, the security of Patrick’s arms around his waist, his chest pressed up against David’s own. _God, _David thought to himself, _how I love this man._

“I’m sorry,” David leaned down to rest his forehead against Patrick’s as he spoke, allowing himself to bask in Patrick’s warmth, even as the cold knot in his stomach started to clench back up. _Why can’t I just have this moment? _He clung tighter to Patrick, who was now swaying them gently to a melody only he could hear, and willed his mind to clear, to just _be._

“Just focus on your breath, David,” Twyla had said. “All you need to do right now is focus on your breath. Everything else will follow from there.” David closed his eyes and imagined Twyla’s soothing voice, her comforting hand on his back.

_Breathe in. 1. 2 .3 .4._

_Breathe out. 1. 2. 3. 4._

David could do this. He could focus on his breath, sink into Patrick’s arms, and let himself be. 

“I love you.” David’s voice came out so small, so soft that it was more breathing into Patrick’s mouth than sound. With a gentle smile toying on his lips, the one that would forever remind David of their first kiss, Patrick closed the distance between them. He kissed David, soft and open, a press of lips laced with unspoken hunger. David opened his mouth to welcome his boyfriend’s probing tongue, again willing his brain to shut off so that he could enjoy the moment.

“Love you, too.” Patrick groaned into the next kiss, “God, David. I want you.” His hands drifted to David’s ass, his hips thrust up to punctuate his words. “Now.” 

David’s stomach was still churning from what happened at the cafe, and he felt completely wrung out. But this? This was something he knew. This was familiar—too familiar, maybe, but he could certainly use the distraction. Besides, making Patrick come sure as fuck beat crying, right?

What David really wanted—needed—to do was sleep for about a thousand years. But what he wanted didn’t matter. What mattered was Patrick, was making this day perfect for the love of his life. David could sleep later, could _feel_ later.

Skip the sex

* * *

“I’ve got you, birthday boy,” he murmured, tracing his lips across Patrick’s jaw to nip at his earlobe. He feathered open-mouthed kisses down Patrick’s neck, and then dropped to his knees. He rubbed his face against the erection tenting his boyfriend’s pajamas, and let his mind go on autopilot. Because for David, sucking cock was an act of mindful meditation, and right now, more than anything, David needed to keep himself in the goddamn moment. 

_I love Patrick._

He flicked his tongue at the wet spot on Patrick’s flannel pants, appreciating the little whimper it pulled from Patrick’s mouth. He carefully pulled the waistband down over his length and slid the pants down Patrick’s thighs. He nosed at the crease where hip met thigh, breathing in the musky scent of Patrick mingled with his lemongrass vetiver body wash.

_This_, he sighed, nuzzling his face into the coarse hair, relishing the tickle against his nose. _This is right. _This is where I belong.

_I love Patrick._

_Two years_. He kept the truth from you for two _fucking_ years. The dark, cold _something_ in his chest clamped down hard, clouding his mind with everything he’d been struggling so hard to keep at bay since Johnny found him in the cafe. Suddenly it hurt to breathe. David’s eyes burned as the tears threatened to form. With no preamble, he brought his mouth to Patrick’s cock and swallowed him down.

_And Patrick loves me._

“Fuck, David,” Patrick let out a surprised gasp and slid his fingers through David’s hair, unprepared for the onslaught. As David started to work his mouth up and down Patrick’s length, Patrick’s thighs trembled; David could tell he was doing all he could to hold himself still, to let David set the pace. And David loved him for it, for how careful he always was, how polite. Even when getting his dick sucked. Always so concerned for David’s comfort.

David couldn’t hold back the sob threatening to explode from his chest, so he feinted, taking Patrick’s entire length into his mouth until his eyes watered and his throat spasmed. The fuck boy years were at least good for something, he had to admit. Deep throating hid the evidence of crying during sex better than anything.

Closing his eyes and letting the tears flow, David swallowed around Patrick’s cock, massaged the underside with the back of his tongue. Humming, he relaxed his throat and he felt his breathing begin to stabilize. Again, David focused his attention on Patrick’s dick in his mouth—the weight of it, the salty tang of precome, the velvety skin of its head. He felt the familiar, pleasant ache in his jaw starting to build as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder. He inhaled through his nose, breathing in Patrick’s scent.

_I love Patrick, and Patrick loves me._

David popped off Patrick’s cock and looked up through his lashes, then brought both hands to rest on top of Patrick’s, holding them in place on either side of his head. He sucked the head back into his mouth and nodded up at his boyfriend, giving Patrick silent permission to stop holding back. 

For a moment, Patrick just smiled down fondly at David, looking at him like he’d hung the goddamn _moon. _“Love you,” he whispered, caressing David’s cheekbone with his thumb, and then let himself go, thrusting hard and fast into David’s mouth. David grabbed onto to Patrick’s hips, fingers curling onto his ass and just held on, humming in relieved satisfaction as he letPatrick take control of his own pleasure.

Soon, David felt Patrick getting close to orgasm. Gentleman that he is, Patrick always gave warning before he came, but David didn’t need it. He could tell by how Patrick’s grip shifted as he began to tug more insistently on David’s hair, by that particular way his thighs tensed as he pumped his hips, by how the muttered _gods _and _fucks _gave way to hitched breaths and wordless grunts. 

“Babe…I’m gonna uh—” and then Patrick fell over the edge, his release spilling down David’s throat as David held him tight and sucked him dry. David remained kneeling, Patrick’s cock softening in his mouth, with his arms wrapped tight around Patrick’s ass, his forehead pressed against his pelvis. Only when Patrick began to squirm from the overstimulation did he reluctantly move away, offering one last, soft kiss to the sensitive head before pulling Patrick's pajamas back up.

“C’mere,” Patrick’s voice was muzzy, the way it always got after sex. David loved that muzzy voice. Patrick pulled him back to his feet and kissed him, tongue seeking out the taste of his release in David’s mouth, the way he always did. David loved how Patrick always kissed him after. David broke off the kiss so that he could look at his boyfriend’s face, gone all soft the way it got after he came. David loved Patrick’s gooey postcoital face.

“Happy birthday, Patrick,” David whispered, and then led his muzzy, satisfied boyfriend by the hand to bed. He pulled back the comforter on Patrick’s side and gestured for him to get in, grazing his lips across Patrick’s knuckles before dropping his hand. “Just gonna go shower. I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Goodnight David,” Patrick gave him a sleepy little grin, and let his head drop back onto the pillow.

_I love Patrick, and Patrick loves me._

* * *

David almost made it into the shower before the dam broke. 

While he waited for the shower to heat up, he completed the first two steps of his evening skincare routine, paying extra care to the puffiness around his eyes. But as he moved to step inside the now steaming hot shower, his whole body was wracked with shuddering, silent sobs. He collapsed against the cold porcelain of the bathtub’s outer edge, and suddenly, the stale muffin and overpriced crab cakes and everything else he’d shoved in his mouth throughout the day needed to come back up. David clung to the toilet, head lolling uselessly on his shoulder in the moments of quiet between several rounds of his stomach contents making their violent exit. After what felt like hours, but could’ve been just minutes—time was dilating and contracting in David’s panic and grief-stricken mind—he was left completely drained, empty in all possible contexts, dry heaving unproductively as the tears formed crusts in the corners of his eyes.

The water had run cold by the time David had regained enough composure to stand. _Fuck it_, he thought, helplessly, as he stepped in to the brisk spray. All he wanted to do in this moment was wash the ache of the day away, to silence the doubts swimming in his head, to contain the gnawing monster at the pit of his stomach. Shivering, he washed as quickly as possible, speeding through his body cleansing routine before his teeth began to chatter.

Once he’d finished the rest of his face routine, David just stood at the mirror and stared. It would take an emergency visit from a concierge surgeon to conceal just how _wrecked _he looked in this moment, even after completing his skincare regimen. There wasn’t a serum in the world strong enough to disguise his red-rimmed, tear-swollen eyes. But it was late, and his boyfriend was in bed on the other side of the door, and David really needed to feel Patrick’s body next to his.

He took a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, like Twyla had directed. He repeated what he _knew_ was his fundamental truth. _Their _fundamental truth.

_I love Patrick._

Inhale.

_And Patrick loves me._

Exhale.

David opened the door and was greeted by the comforting sound of Patrick’s gentle snoring from across the room. The corners of his mouth lifted in the tiniest of smiles as watched the beautiful man—_his_ beautiful man—sleep. He ghosted a delicate kiss to Patrick’s forehead when he slid into bed, and then turned on his side so that he could tuck himself up as the little spoon against Patrick’s body. Instinctively, Patrick wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in tighter.

He knew there was a lot they’d need to sort through. He dreaded it, but he knew it needed to happen. For the sake of their relationship, for the sake of their future. He snuggled down underneath the comforter and brought his hands to cover the one Patrick had splayed across his chest. He didn’t want to do this. He was going to do this.

Because _I love Patrick, _he reminded himself. _And Patrick loves me._ Exhausted, David drifted offto sleep, cuddled up in the warmth of his boyfriend’s embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to this_is_not_nothing for the hand-holding on this one.


	3. at best I can say I'm not sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Patrick's surprise party, David can't keep hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to break the final chapter into two parts because it was getting out of control. Of course, those of you who were with me in real time with the [tattoo fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436605) will just see that I'm back on my bullshit. 
> 
> Please remember, this is canon compliant, so eye on the prize. Thank you so much for all the thoughtful comments; it's been so heartening to read that other fans were wanting an exploration of these emotions.

_“Mmmm, yes, right there. Please. Don’t stop,” David moaned unintelligibly into Patrick’s mouth, unwilling to break the kiss for something as irrelevant as words, but Patrick got the gist of it, anyway.“Not a chance, love,” he answered as he continued to grind his hips to that maddeningly slow rhythm, his cock gliding against David’s prostate with every thrust._

_They hadn’t made it that extra six steps to the bed when they got home, both too keyed up from the emotions of the day to postpone their pleasure a single second longer. David was straddling Patrick’s lap on the end of sofa, one leg wrapped around his waist, the other hung over the edge, bracing himself for Patrick’s onslaught, his leaking cock pressed between their bodies as they rocked together. Their movements were passionate yet unhurried, both letting the fire build slowly._

_This. David had always scoffed at the phrase, but now he understood it. There was fucking and being fucked and all the other ways that he’d had sex in his life, and then there was this. Making love. With the man that he loved, who loved him back, and it was a pleasure that he’d never imagined possible._

* * *

For a while, David was in that liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, his body still moving to the rhythm of his dream as his mind gradually became aware of its reality, of where he was. Light was streaming through the windows of Patrick’s apartment, where he was safe and warm in Patrick’s bed. Where Patrick was between his legs, mouthing sloppy, wet kisses along his dick. David propped himself up on his elbows and tried to shake off the remaining fuzziness of sleep as he looked down at his boyfriend. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Patrick grinned up at him through his barely-there lashes, and then sucked the tip into his mouth.

For a moment, David was overwhelmed with sensory overload—the wet heat of Patrick’s mouth at war with the physical reminders of the previous night. His eyes swollen and sore, head pounding, the lingering, empty ache from the time spent hugging the toilet. David _hurt, _and that hurt only grew stronger as he reached full consciousness.

As that familiar itch started behind his eyes, David let his head fall back on the pillow and tried to concentrate on Patrick’s mouth. _Don’t cry with your dick in his mouth, _he told himself, desperately, futilely. _Lie back and enjoy the blow job. _His mind wandered back to the dream he’d woken from, to the feeling of Patrick making love to him, filling him in every way possible. He squeezed his eyes shut, his whole face tensed up as he struggled to keep the tears at bay. 

_I love Patrick, and Patrick loves me._

“Um….David?” Patrick’s voice sounded so far away, sounded hesitant, uncertain.

_How long has he been saying my name?_

“David? Is everything ok?"

David tried to blink back the tears and lifted his head to see Patrick kneeling over his soft dick, eyes full of confused concern. 

“David, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry…I can’t—,” the room was closing in on him, the air too thick to breathe. David had to get away from it. He scrambled out of bed, tripping on the joggers pulled down to his knees. He quickly kicked them the rest of the way off and stumbled to the bathroom just in time for whatever was left inside to force itself back up and out of his body.

Head heavy and throbbing, David knelt over the toilet, struggling to breathe, gagging on rancid bile as the heaving became less productive. He shivered, though his whole body was damp with sweat, and no amount of blinking could stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks.

Patrick was crouched behind him, running a soothing palm up and down his back, murmuring gently. “It’s okay, love…Get it out…I’m right here…Shhhh….it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. David was falling to pieces, and Patrick was being _nice _and _loving _and it just made everything so much _worse _because _how could he act so damn loving when David wasn’t enough for him to trust with his truth, when he’d spent the last two years hiding so much? How would David ever be enough? _David was shaking now, choking out broken, hiccuping sobs, gripping the toilet seat so tightly his knuckles were white with effort.

Patrick pulled David back against him as he worked to pry David’s fingers off the toilet. “Shhhh, baby, I’ve got you. Shhhhh,” he whispered, enveloping David with those strong arms, holding him against his chest, gently rocking side to side. Holding him tight, letting him cry, whispering loving words of comfort into his ear as David’s whole body was wracked with sobs.

For the third time in less than ten hours, David found himself in a crumpled heap on a cold floor, torn apart by that dark beast gnawing its way through his chest, and struggling not to give in to the darkness.

_I love Patrick, and Patrick loves me._

Minutes, hours, days later—David had no concept of time; everything just _hurt_ and felt like it always _had_ and always _would_—he became aware of Patrick’s voice as they rocked on the floor.“Sweetheart…David…I can’t hear you, can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I love Patrick, and Patrick loves me,” David was talking to himself, muttering under his breath as he tried to focus on his breath while Patrick held him close, nestled his chin into the crook of David’s neck.

“Yes, David. I love you. I love you so much, baby. I’ve got you. I love you,” Patrick assured him, over and over, feathering kisses along his temple and cheek and jaw to punctuate each sentence. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

And it was too much. David felt the bile threatening to rise in the back of his throat and needed to break away. He turned toward Patrick and kissed him, hard and seeking, putting space between their bodies even as his tongue demanded entrance. Before Patrick had time to process, to tell him to stop, David had shoved a hand into Patrick’s flannel pants and grabbed his flaccid dick. He broke off the kiss and lowered his head, desperate to get his mouth on Patrick, to get his mind off…_everything._

_“David,” _Patrick’s voice was urgent, demanding. “David, STOP!” He brought a gentle hand down and used two fingers to lift David’s chin. His face crumpled at the sight of David’s frantic, tear-soaked gaze, and David hated himself for it.

“What’s going on?”

David clamped his mouth shut as he willed his breathing to stabilize. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to do this.

He was going to do this.

He closed his eyes, unable to take the pain in Patrick’s face, and didn’t try to stop the tears that fell. “I…uh, I think we need to talk.”

“Da—…are you…are we…David?” Patrick stuttered, his voice quietly projecting a thousand anxieties at once. David opened his eyes to see Patrick’s face gone pale, his eyes wide and uncertain. David had cast his gaze toward the ugly popcorn ceiling; he couldn’t stand to see how fragile Patrick looked, how fragile he’d made Patrick look. David hated to be the reason Patrick looked so broken. _This is why he couldn’t trust you._

David gingerly rose to stand, his knees making him entirely too aware of just how much time he’d spent kneeling on uncomfortable floors recently, and with the ease of someone both younger and more athletic, Patrick followed suit. David did his best to channel authoritative, soothing Twyla. _Breathe, David. Just focus on the breath and everything else will follow. _Unable to maintain eye contact, David’s eyes darted around the room, finally settling on a tiny thread unraveling at the hem of Patrick’s tee shirt. 

“Um, can we do this somewhere else?” David began, “maybe a proper chair or sofa or something? I’ve spent enough time on this floor today.”

“David?” Patrick asked weakly, “are we ok?”

_Shit. _That dark, cold thing in his stomach exploded; his eyes burned anew. Again, David found himself struggling to take in enough air, his breath coming in ragged gulps. With all the courage he could muster, David brought his eyes up to meet Patrick’s searching gaze, heartbroken to see that they were as glassy with unshed tears as his own.

_I love Patrick, and Patrick loves me._

David inhaled and shook his head. “No, Patrick. We’re not.” He bit his lower lip as the love of his life collapsed into a crumpled, sobbing heap on the floor, “But I hope we can be.”


	4. but hope is a dangerous thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick realizes that he's fucked up, and they look toward the path that will make things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter was hard, y'all. All the tenderness and cookies to this_is_not_nothing for cheerleading and brainstorming and petting me on the head when I was crying.

“Can we sit please?” David offered a hand to Patrick, who took it hesitantly, gingerly, as if touching David might break..someone. He wiped his eyes with the back of his other hand, then carelessly rubbed the top of his head, a gesture David had grown to recognize at Patrick’s most anxious moments. David guided him to the sofa, and quickly went to collect his joggers from where he’d flung them. This was not a conversation to have bare-assed on the sofa.

“Wh—what’s wrong, David?” Patrick was looking at him with those puppy-dog eyes, with that same pained intensity that he’d shown the day after his fiancée showed up. “You make me feel right,” Patrick had told him that day, and David had the audacity to believe him, at least a little. He had certainly wanted to believe him. But he shouldn’t have, because clearly he _didn’t_ make Patrick feel right, the darkness gripping his insides reminded him. Because if he truly _had_, Patrick would’ve told him the truth. Would’ve trusted him to share his burden.

And now David had fucked everything up that much worse because he couldn’t rein in his emotions, couldn’t just be what Patrick needed, who Patrick needed him to be. Now Patrick sounded so _broken_; David hated himself for it.

David’s mouth was dry, tongue heavy in his throat. “I...um, uh—...why?” He knew he wasn’t making sense, but the thoughts were churning too quickly in his head to verbalize in anything resembling a logical sentence. He cleared his throat, tugging idly at the neckline of the sweatshirt that suddenly felt two sizes too small before sinking down onto the end of the sofa opposite Patrick.

“I just....I need to know why—” he trailed off, head downcast, unable to bring himself to look at Patrick, “what did I…was I—?” David squeezed his eyes shut, crossed his arms over his chest as though it would help him shrink into the sofa, somehow make him take up less space in the world. _Breathe, David. _He thought of Twyla’s gentle voice, her comforting hand on his back, and took in several unsteady breaths.

“Did you ever trust me?” David couldn’t stop his voice from breaking or the way his lower lip quivered as he spoke_. I love Patrick._ The part of him that knew Patrick’s answer was _yes_ was still _somewhere_ inside him, but so overwhelmed and overpowered by the gnawing darkness that he could barely hold on to it. _And Patrick lo—_David’s whole body went cold as the doubt finally penetrated his last defense. He drew his knees up into his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around them as sought to retreat further into himself.

_Does Patrick love me?_

“_What_? No! I mean, _yes! _Why would you think I didn’t?” Patrick was gobsmacked, eyes wide and mouth gaping. _Like he actually believed it_, David’s anxiety supplied; he tried to shake the cynical chatter out of his head, regarded Patrick as cautiously as his tear-blurred vision would allow. 

“Sweetheart?” Patrick inched his way closer to David on the sofa, and reached a tentative hand toward David’s knee, recoiling when he saw David flinch. Patrick let his hand drop helplessly into his lap.

“David?” he implored, “you know I—…I trust you, David. Please believe me.” David looked up to the ceiling, biting into his lower lip, desperate to keep his mouth from trembling, and was overwhelmed by the coppery taste of his own blood. He couldn’t handle Patrick’s earnestness. Not _now_, after everything. After letting himself believe…no. Not now. He couldn’t handle it.

Patrick turned his whole body toward David’s, both arms extending to pull him into a familiar embrace before stopping awkwardly, mid-reach; instead he brought both hands to his face, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and let his head droop. 

“I love you, David. Y-you know _that_, right?” Patrick peered up at him, his hands still pressed against his face, turning that bashful _Patrick _look into something utterly devastating.

Suddenly, the room echoed with the rippling bells of David’s alarm. Patrick startled at the sound, but David acknowledged it blankly, walking over to the nightstand to turn it off.

“Don’t worry about this right now,” David didn’t take his gaze away from the phone as he spoke, “you have to meet your parents for breakfast in fifteen minutes.” He sat on the bed to put on his shoes, then gathered his black leather bag and walked toward the door. “I’ll….um, I guess…I, uh—I’ll see you later?”

Patrick was on his feet, closing the twelve steps between the sofa and the door before David finished speaking, “David, wait. _David!” _He slammed his hand against the door as David turned the knob. “Please, don’t go.”

David rested his forehead against the door, gulped as much air into his lungs as he could manage. “It’s okay, P-patrick. I understand,” he smiled weakly, blinking back the tears, and brought a hand to rest against Patrick’s sparsely-stubbled jaw, “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“Wha—oh _god, _David, _no_!” Patrick hands were on David’s face, burning the skin beneath his touch as he pulled David down toward him, mouthing frantic kisses against David’s neck, his jaw, his chin…wherever he could reach.

David brought his hands to Patrick’s shoulders, wrested himself away from his boyfriend’s onslaught. “I ca—…Patrick, you’ve got to get to the cafe. Your parents will be waiting. We can talk later,” he ducked his face down again, and whispered toward his feet, “I mean, if you still want.” With his head downturned, David tried to surreptitiously wipe a tear away, but Patrick noticed. Because Patrick always noticed David. Well, usually noticed. But last night was a pretty significant statistically anomaly. 

Patrick brushed a delicate thumb against the corner of David’s eye to wipe away the tear, and then gently pressed David’s chin up so that they were eye to eye. His face was soft, unfocused, as though he were looking _through_ David, or maybe searching for him off in the distance, and then there it was. That spark of recognition—his eyes gone wide, his breath caught in his throat, his whole face suddenly distorted with the weight of his realization. 

“I’m sorry,” the words tumbled from Patrick’s mouth into the space between them. “David, oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I never—,” and then he crumpled against the door as though his legs forgot how to stand.

“David, David, David,” he muttered under his breath as he idly shook his head, his buffering face gone grief-stricken.

David stood paralyzed, wanting to comfort his boyfriend, kiss away his tears of the man he loved even though the memory of every failed relationship was screaming at him to flee. _Save yourself from any more heartache. You’re never going to be enough._

“Patrick, your parents are waiting. Do you hear me?” he crouched down and put his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, giving a gentle shake, “_Patrick_. You need to go now.”

It took a few moments for Patrick to acknowledge him, for his eyes to come back into focus. “David?” he whispered, his voice so small, so full of longing, “please don’t leave me.” He got to his feet. “Please don’t leave,” he repeated, scrambling to his nightstand to grab his phone. He kept his eyes glued to David the entire time, as if he were afraid David would bolt the moment he turned away.

_And who knows, _David thought to himself_, he’s probably right. _As he crossed the room, Patrick brought his phone to his ear, his gaze still locked on David.

“Hey Mom,” Patrick’s voice was falsely bright, “sorry for the late notice. Ah….look, something came up. Can we push breakfast back to lunch?” David couldn’t make out Mrs. Brewer’s response, but felt that familiar lump starting to solidify in his gut. All the smoothing over from yesterday would certainly fly out the window now, he mourned, guilty to be stealing more of what limited time the Brewers had with their son.

Patrick mouthed “Please stay” in David’s direction, and then turned slightly. He brought his free hand up to rub along the back of his head. “Uh, yeah…mmhmm. I know,” he cast a nervous glance toward David, “I do.”

David wrapped his arms around his chest, shoulders hunched up toward his ears as he tried to make himself small, to take up as little of Patrick’s space as possible. He gazed anxiously around the apartment, unsure of where to look or of what he was allowed to hear. He closed his eyes, and tried to remember his fundamental truth. Remember that it was _still _his fundamental truth.

_I love Patrick, and Patrick loves me._

He repeated it to himself, over and over, silently mouthing the words as he struggled to remind himself that this was real_. _He busied himself with making Patrick’s bed, with straightening up his book case. He finally ducked into the washroom and busied himself with something actually useful—the skincare he’d neglected to do this morning—and tried not to listen to Patrick’s side of the conversation with his mother. 

“Okay, Mom. I will…_yes, _I do…alright. See you at one. I love you, too,” David heard Patrick sigh loudly from the other side of the door.

“David?” His voice was stronger than it had been before, but was still laced with concern, “can we talk?”

David inhaled deeply, and opened the door. “Look, I’m sorry. Tell your parents I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he tried to edge his way around Patrick toward the door.

“David, listen…please?” Patrick tempered his command at the last moment, clearly aware of how skittish the man before him was in this moment. “I’m sorry.” David looked at him through his lashes as he bit both lips between his teeth, not yet trusting himself to speak.

“I fucked up,” Patrick continued. “I can’t even say why I did it now, but it was wrong, and I hurt you, and that’s the last thing I ever want to do.” He reached a tentative hand toward David’s, the tiniest of olive branches. “Can I hold your hand, David?” 

For an eternity, David just stared down at Patrick’s hand, eyes welling with tears. _This is all a trick, _the darkness was telling him,_ He’s going to break your heart. Run. Now. _It took all his courage to raise his head, to look his boyfriend in the eye. Patrick’s eyes shone with tears, too.

“David, I love you, and I’m so so sorry I hurt you. Please, will you take my hand?” Patrick spoke with a little more desperation as David stood there, dazed, gradually shifting his gaze back to Patrick’s outstretched hand.

“Please, David. You made everything okay for me yesterday. Give me the chance to make it right for you, sweetheart. Please?”

David stood there, unmoving, hearing Patrick’s voice and seeing his movements separately, as though he were watching a movie at the Elmdale Dollar Theater where the audio track was never properly synced to the video. Like he was an observer and not an actor in his own life. He just stood and watched and listened. _I hate tearjerkers,_ he thought absently._ I wish we’d picked a romcom for movie night instead._

“David? Honey?” Patrick’s voice sounded closer, David realized, because he had _gotten _closer. His outstretched hand was just a breath away from David’s own now, but still carefully, oh so carefully _not _touching. “Please, sweetheart? Can I touch you? Can I hold your hand?”

_I love Patrick, _David felt himself coming out of the haze, just a little, _and Patrick loves me. _He blinked rapidly, tried to shake off the cold _something _still clouding up the corners of his vision, and saw Patrick standing before him, tears streaming down his face. David hated to see Patrick cry, hated to see the love of his life upset at all. He brought a delicate fingertip to Patrick’s cheek to catch the tear, and traced its path back up toward Patrick’s eye.

“David, I’m so sorry. I love you. Please let me make it okay,” David moved his finger to trace the shape of Patrick’s bottom lip as he spoke, slowly moving back and forth as if he were making sure his boyfriend was really there, that this wasn’t just another trick from the darkness.

“Please, beautiful, can I touch you? Let me touch you, love,” Patrick murmured against David’s fingertip, still so so cautious, afraid that one false move would spook the man before him into bolting forever, “Please, David.”

David glanced down to Patrick’s hand between them, and then back up to his face. He repeated his fundamental truth, that precious thing that he refused to let the darkness pry from his grasp.

_I love Patrick. _He slipped his hand down and interlaced their fingers together. Patrick choked out a relieved sob at the touch.

_And Patrick loves me. _He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss onto Patrick’s forehead, then brought their hands up to hold between their hearts.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I trust you.”


	5. But I have it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick's POV the day after his surprise party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbeta'ed because I needed to get this out into the world so that I could focus on lighter, fluffier topics.

Patrick stared blankly at his feet, at the scuffed linoleum beneath them, at the expensive not-Converse sneakers inches in front of his sock-clad toes. David’s forehead was pressed against his own, their hands tangled together at their sides. He tried to remember how to breathe, but his body wasn’t cooperating. Ragged inhale gave way to choked off exhale as he tried, in vain, to swallow back the sobs tearing from his throat.

“I—uh…I owe you an explanation,” he hiccuped, still unable to bring his gaze up, afraid to look into the heartbreak in David’s eyes, “f-for yesterday. For…for everything.” His blood rushed loud and violent inside his skull, pounding from within to the punishing rhythm of his heartbeat. The tears burned salty paths down his cheeks, slowly mixing with snot as he sniffled because he could let go of David’s hand. He couldn’t risk it. What if he let go and David didn’t let him back?

He felt David nod, just a tiny rock of his forehead against Patrick’s.

Patrick swallowed thickly and cleared his throat, shifting his gaze as high as he had the courage to bring it. “Can we sit?” he asked, staring resolutely into the dip between David’s collarbones.

David remained silent, again answering only with a nod. Patrick risked a quick glance up through his lashes to see David chewing at his bottom lip, which trembled between his teeth. Patrick wanted to kiss away the worry, desperately wished that he could kiss away David’s pain. Somewhere in his mind, it registered that he was doing the same thing, chewing so roughly on his own lower lip that he’d scraped it open, but that didn’t matter.

Hesitantly, terrified that he might scare David away with the slightest misstep, Patrick brought one hand—still clasping David’s—up between their faces. He slid the pad of his thumb along David’s lip, gently tugging it away from his teeth.

“David,” Patrick’s voice broke as he uttered his boyfriend’s name, reverent as a prayer. “Please, David.” His vision clouded from another sting of tears, and somehow, that gave him the confidence to look up, to look head-on into the aftermath of his betrayal.

_I trust you, _he’d said. Even now, even after Patrick had torn his heart open with his bullshit. _I trust you. I trust you. I trust you._

He could do this. He had to do this.

David deserved this.

David deserved so much better than this.

—

They sat at opposite ends of the sofa, and the space between them might have well been the entirety of the Atlantic Ocean. His posture stiff and formal, David had both feet planted on the floor in front of him, his chin tucked and arms protectively folded against his chest.

At the other end of the sofa, Patrick missed David, missed him so much it ached. He wanted to be touching David, comforting and taking comfort from the man he loved more than anything. It hurt to be so far away, unable to do anything to soothe the pain clouding David’s beautiful face.

“W-was it something I did?” David’s voice wobbled, his gaze still locked on his own knees. Patrick felt his lips tremble as he studied David, watched him blink rapidly, unable to stop the single tear from slipping down his cheek. His eyes squeezed shut as he tilted his face toward the ceiling, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He was so beautiful, he was always beautiful, even now, even when he looked so broken.

_Because of me. I broke him. _Patrick’s chest tightened; he could feel his pulse racing in his ears. 

The problem with talking it through was that Patrick didn’t have a good reason for it. David deserved an answer beyond “I don’t know,” and Patrick couldn’t give him a better one. Not if he couldn’t figure out for himself exactly why he’d kept David in the dark.

_Why didn’t I tell him? _That’s the million dollar question right there, isn’t it? Why did he risk _everything_ they’d built together by keeping something so huge secret? _Why why why?_

Patrick hated not having the answer, not having everything figured out. There’s the rub, though. That’s always been his problem. When he didn’t have all the answers, he kind of just shut down. Lock it up, ignore the problem, pretend it doesn’t exist, right?

The laugh surprised him, wild and desperate as it tore out of his chest. It surprised them both, Patrick realized, watching David curl his long body in on itself, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

_I’m a take charge guy, _he’d told David just yesterday, and fuck if that wasn’t the stupidest goddamn thing ever. He was still laughing, this loud and hysterical hollow noise erupting from somewhere deep inside him that he couldn’t stop, couldn’t swallow down, even though David was fucking _shaking _on the other end of the couch.

“David,” Patrick tried for soothing but the name came out like a deranged bark. _Fuck, he was messing this up, ruining everything. _As he gasped in a rough breath, it felt like he was gonna choke on his own tongue.

He tried that whole breathing thing again, with a little more success this time.

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

Breathing: check. _Now let’s try for the talking. _He swallowed thickly, tongue heavy in his throat.

“You’re perfect,” he squeaked out between hiccuping breaths.

_Keep going. You can do this. You _have _to do this._

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” the words were coming faster now, the deranged laughter shifting into a hysterical need to get everything out. To get all the words out, as fast as possible. Patrick stared down at his hands, idly scraping a fingernail against the cuticle of his thumb. “I’m starting to realize that I do that,” he huffed in frustration, “a lot. When I don’t have everything figured out, I…uh, I kinda of just shut down.”

“And it’s not something you did or didn’t do, David, I swear,” Patrick hazarded a glance toward David, and gulped when red-rimmed chocolate eyes met his own.

“I fucked up by not telling you, and I think…um, well, I think it’s because I—uh, I don’t handle not having my shit together. Not knowing things, especially things about myself. So I put off telling them for so long—” Patrick scrubbed a palm up over his face, carelessly spreading some gross combination of snot and tears. “I wanted to…to—I don’t even know, to handle this _one thing _without needing training wheels, for god’s sake. You’ve already held my hand through my entire queer awakening. I just…I didn’t want to make you—um, I felt like I at least owed it to you to handle something on my own.”

“And when I didn’t…I couldn’t…I kept thinking that I’d get my shit together and do it myself, and be the partner you deserve,” Patrick paused for a shaky inhale, chewing on his lower lip until his mouth flooded with the taste of copper. “But I fucked it up, and I’m so sorry that I made you feel like that, like I didn’t trust you, because all I want is to make you happy, to make you proud. I love you so much, David.”

“Please believe me,” he begged, “David?”

David’s chin trembled as they sat there, the silence thick between them. Patrick’s eyes burned with tears, both shed and unshed, and every second that passed felt like an eternity as he watched the man he loved contemplate what he’d just said. 

_Please believe me, David. Please._

“Y-you hurt me,” David whispered, blinking against the fresh tears threatening to carve new paths down his cheeks.

“I know,” Patrick answered, “and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“But…b-but you _do _trust me?” Patrick’s heart broke at the uncertainty in his voice, hated that he’d put it there. _God, David was so kind and beautiful and deserved happiness. _But David’s eyes—Patrick’s heart skipped a beat or three at the glimmer of hope that flashed in those dark eyes.

“I trust you, David, and I love you and I’m so grateful for…for everything. Yesterday, every day. You’re my favorite person, and never want to hurt you again.” The words tumbled out, rough and awkward, because Patrick’s whole body was vibrating at the look in David’s eyes.

David been to uncurl from his protective ball, feet coming back down to the floor.

Patrick’s heart was pounding loud in his chest, his breath coming quick and ragged because David was looking at him, looking at him like he might actually believe what Patrick was saying, what Patrick so desperately needed David to understand.

David started to scoot toward the center of the sofa, eyes glued to Patrick’s as he moved. Patrick lifted his eyebrows, a wordless question.

David nodded.

Patrick rushed toward David. He paused just shy of touching him, sitting on his heels, hands trembling against his thighs. “D-david?” fell from his lips, part prayer, part question.

David opened his arms wide.

A sob escaped his throat as Patrick scrambled into David’s lap. He brought his hands to rest against David’s jaw, pressed his forehead against David’s.

“Thank you,” he gasped as David wrapped those strong arms around his ribcage and pulled him closer, and suddenly he was sobbing and shaking in David’s arms, but it was okay, because David made everything okay.

They were both crying as they locked eyes, noses nuzzling together. “I love Patrick,” David mouthed the words against Patrick’s quivering lips, holding tight as Patrick cried in his lap. “And Patrick loves me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the Rosebudd Mariahs for the lively debate that sparked this fic, and for their general awesomeness. Special thank yous to olive2read, Rhetorical Questions, and Distractive for asking me some challenging questions and cheerleading! And extra special thank you to this-is-not-nothing, who puts up with so much of my bullshit and makes everything more tender. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this everyone, and for your kind and thoughtful comments. I appreciate every last one!


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